


Serenity

by thechaoscryptid



Series: Every Day I'm Tumblin' [29]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Feelings, Slice of Life, and the things it meets, i am well and truly confounded on how to tag this properly, it's the life cycle of a bag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:01:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24054091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechaoscryptid/pseuds/thechaoscryptid
Summary: Traveling is no life for a bag of its sort--it’s meant to be box, outside, and then home before the final darkness comes to cradle it, nestled among other discarded bits and pieces. A bag isn’t meant for greatness, no.It’s meant forpurpose,but certainly not greatness, and as night falls and neon signs light the puddles on the street, the bag soldiers on.
Relationships: paper bag/doorstop
Series: Every Day I'm Tumblin' [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1483538
Comments: 5
Kudos: 8





	Serenity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TipsyRaconteur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TipsyRaconteur/gifts).



> Tipsy: you could probably write a ship about a paper bag and a doorstop and I'd follow it
> 
> Me: ...bet

There are many things to see in the city. Too many, perhaps, and from its first taste of freedom, a liquor bag sees more than enough. It houses darkness inside, bitter spirits sought out by those who have also seen more than their fair share. People of all kinds pass its new master by and for the second time in its life (no matter how brief), cool air fills it as the spirits are put away and it’s turned half inside out.

It crinkles and waves merrily in the breeze, greeting the passersby with an empty bottom and gaping maw.

_For your troubles,_ one person says, and its bottom becomes a little less empty as coins tinkle against the pavement below.

_Better days ahead, man,_ another says, bills whispering against the coin as the breeze turns cool.

_Good luck._

_Godspeed._

_I’m sorry, my friend,_ then, and a grunt from master as they lean forward to shroud the bag in darkness as they accept another, its red and white checkers spotted with grease. It’s no matter--that bag is cast aside along with the wrappers inside, free to roam the city as the wind takes it.

The day wears on and clouds darken the sky, leaving the streets cool and anticipatory before the first raindrops fall. They patter on the sidewalk softly at first, and then in a dull roar as the skies open and the bag feels itself slowly begin to crumble. It clings to the concrete slabs of the sidewalk even when the money is taken out and master goes onto greener pastures, but it is _hard._

Water fades to warmth as the storm passes and the city is bathed in sunlight once more. Twisting, tumbling, the bag is pried from its position and forced away from its temporary home, riding the breeze to nowhere in particular before it’s slammed up against a black post. The void inside exists no longer as paper side rubs against paper side, shivering before a booted foot kicks it away and it’s left to go on its not-so-merry way once again.

Traveling is no life for a bag of its sort--it’s meant to be box, outside, and then home before the final darkness comes to cradle it, nestled among other discarded bits and pieces. A bag isn’t meant for greatness, no.

It’s meant for _purpose,_ but certainly not greatness, and as night falls and neon signs light the puddles on the street, the bag soldiers on. It passes by man and beast and building as it goes, travelling down foreign streets in search of somewhere to rest in peace. 

_Aren’t you tired?_ someone asks.

_It’s the city that never sleeps,_ their companion snorts, _why would I be tired?_

Their voices fade to the sound of tires on asphalt as the bag makes its way across the street, narrowly avoiding being crushed into nothingness as it loops along the twisted undersides of the vehicles before being deposited on the opposite sidewalk. 

The wind whisks it from place to place until the first rays of dawn break over the city skyline. With the sun comes warmth once more, a quiet assurance of life and happiness that cradles the bag in hands of purest white as it’s deposited in the bushes next to a red brick stoop. Branches claw, leaving it torn and more worthless than before, but it is at rest, _finally._

City noises aren’t as loud here, merely underscoring the sound of birdsong and leaves rustling in the early morning breeze. Down the street, a dog barks, followed by _shaddup, you mutt_ and the slamming of a door. 

When at last the wind gives up the fight, the door attached to the stoop opens and someone comes out to sit. They sigh in happiness, hand wrapped around a steaming mug as they lift their face to the light.

Perhaps, just maybe...

_Come on out, darling,_ they say gently. _It’s a beautiful day today._

The bag trembles when a bird alights on the branches it’s stuck in, and quivers in earnest when the bird takes in the cat stalking out the door and flies off. The cat flops down lazily on the brick with paws extended, slowly kneading at the air as the person runs a hand down its side.

_There, Petra, it’s not so bad out, is it?_

Petra gives a low, grumbling yowl before swatting at the bag. Claws dig in and yet again, it’s pulled from safety into the wider world, and it’s halfway to completely ruined before the person takes pity and pushes Petra’s paws away.

_Don’t play with that,_ they scold, hands warm and kind as they smooth the paper against the stoop. It’s folded into quarters and stuffed into the space between the door and the gleaming silver doorstop and there, _there,_ is where it finds its true peace. 

The metal holds it fast against the wood of the door and because of this, the space the bag occupies is _safe._ It is not the darkness it so desires, but the doorstop is warm and smooth and unwilling to give the bag up even when Petra comes for it once again.

_Don’t be naughty,_ the person tuts. _Garbage isn’t a toy. Enjoy the day with me, come here._ They click their tongue, and Petra meanders away to flop against their side. _That’s my girl._

For the first time in its life, the bag is well and truly at the height of existence. Though the brick picks at it and the sun’s heat quickly turns from warm to baking, it lies tranquil in the embrace of this newfound friend. Flowers scent the day, the smell sinking into its fibers to erase the stink of the streets and wash it in serenity. As the day’s hustle and bustle reaches its small haven, the person sitting on the stoop sighs again, this time in annoyance as a child kicks a ball too close to the hedge. 

Leaving the doorstop is somehow more difficult than knowing its life is coming to an end. The bag catches its edge on the plastic foot, tearing itself as it struggles to remain where it knows the world cannot hurt it. When the person’s foot taps the stop it squeals as it lifts, sounding every bit like it’s mourning the touch of crinkled paper just as the bag yearns for its comforts once again.

_Petra,_ the person calls. _Breakfast time._

White tile and blue walls blur together as the person walks and before Petra can come after it again, the bag is gently laid to rest among other odds and ends that have no place in a home. It may not be a beautiful grave, or even a good one, but it is enough to have known the touch of the sun and the kindness of another before being tossed among eggshells and coffee grounds. 

It is enough to have served its purpose.

It is _enough,_ and though it misses the gleam of silver in the sun, it has earned this final rest.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments always read and _very_ much appreciated, and I always do my best to get back to them ❤️
> 
> You can also find me lurking and yelling about fictional characters on:  
> [Twitter](https://www.twitter.com/aryagraceling)  
> [Discord](https://discord.gg/cM8FaND)  
> [Tumblr](https://aryagraceling.tumblr.com)  
> [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/groups/601270063618951)


End file.
